Ten years ago, I covered my first Biketoberfest as a radio news reporter. I had just moved to Daytona Beach a few months before and didn’t really know what to expect when my news director handed me the assignment. Coming from ultra-conservative Tennessee, I anticipated the four-day event would be a drastic departure from the Appalachian festivals I had covered in the Knoxville area.
Trust me. I had heard plenty of stories about what happens when the hogs start rolling into town. Friends warned me that because I lived beachside, I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night from the insane noise levels. They told me all the areas of town I should avoid to keep from running into “big, mean biker dudes.” And I shouldn’t even think about going near Main Street. They said it was full of people who had no business squeezing their love handles into a leather pair of chaps.
So where did this young reporter end up after being given the assignment to “get the flavor” of Biketoberfest? Smack-dab in the middle of a bunch of middle-aged women wearing assless chaps on a very noisy Main Street.
After the first couple minutes of culture shock passed, I pressed into the throng of people gathered along the crowded roadway. With it being Saturday, Biketoberfest was in full swing. Tens of thousands had descended on the world’s most famous beach for one last hurrah before putting the Harleys away for the cold winter season. As I made my way through the gauntlet of bikes (and more women wearing assless chaps), I eventually worked up enough courage to strike up a conversation with some of the participants. And that’s when my preconceived notions about Biketoberfest, and the people who attend, began to change.
I started interviewing anyone and everyone. I wanted to know what made these people tick and why they were invading sun-drenched Daytona.
Over and over, these “big, mean biker dudes” told me about their jobs back home. Many were blue-collar folks who worked two jobs to pay the bills. Some were doctors. Others were lawyers or CEOs. A number of them were retired and had been vacationing in Daytona Beach for years.
Just about everyone I spoke with was married and usually had their hunny by their side. I can remember how some told me about the hundreds of miles they had to drive and all the problems they encountered just getting to Daytona. One older couple was still shaken up from a close call with a tractor trailer on the interstate. Another husband and wife from Arizona told me about being robbed at gunpoint while staying at a motel in Texas on the way to Daytona. ”It wasn’t easy getting here,” the woman said. ”But we made it.”
So, why make the pilgrimage to Daytona Beach? It’s a question that kept coming up with everyone I interviewed. And almost everyone responded with what seemed to be an insatiable love for Daytona Beach and Central Florida. They spoke fondly of everything Daytona has to offer from the gorgeous beaches and tropical weather to the great shopping and one-of-a-kind restaurants.
One other thing kept coming up when they spoke of Daytona Beach and Central Florida. And that one thing was the people who live and work here. No matter where they were from, each spoke glowingly about Daytona and its residents. More than a handful went on to explain how each year they would save up money for one vacation and that one vacation was always in Daytona Beach. Some even said they would never think of going anywhere else for their yearly R&R.
A decade after my first Biketoberfest, I have a great appreciation for the folks who strap on the leather and visit Daytona Beach for the area’s motorcycle events. For the most part, they’re hard-working people who just want to have fun before hibernating in their homes during five months of cold weather. As with any large event, there will always be residents who complain about noise and traffic congestion and those middle-aged women wearing assless chaps. But those critics should rethink their stance. They should be thankful Daytona Beach has such a loyal fan base that’s willing to drop millions of dollars into local cash registers year after year. And in this economy, who can complain about good folks like that?
